


What We've Survived

by mothermonsters



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, POV Alternating, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothermonsters/pseuds/mothermonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S5 AU in which Dany journeys to Winterfell to secure the unlikely alliance of Sansa Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daenerys and Sansa

Steam and smoke rose from the courtyard where broken glass and snow lived. Winterfell was a dilapidated hell and her dragons quickly made themselves the rulers. What of the Boltons? What even of the Kings of Winter? The queen of Meereen shuddered to think of those stone faces carved into eternity beneath her feet. No one would be thinking the same, not with Daenerys Targaryen here; the mother of dragons in the flesh, and perhaps blood. 

Her plight for the north had caused quiet outrage amongst her council. Which truly meant that she needed to exercise her right as queen. It had taken time, much more time than it would have any other way, to change course for Winterfell than King’s Landing. _I have no allies, no friends in Westeros. I must rally the few that I can to my side._ She was a Targaryen, which made conquering come easy, but Westeros and the Iron Throne were very different beasts than Essos and the slave cities. 

Winterfell was a weak link. It had already been taken and burned to bits by the Boltons; the Lannister’s lap dogs. Although she had things to fear from them; they were already notoriously ruthless, having slayed Robb Stark at the Twins. Not to mention word of Ramsay Bolton’s intrigue in hunting women for sport…

But it wasn’t the Lords of Bolton Dany was invested in. Her strongest and possibly sole link to Westeros lie within the daughter and heir of the man who helped overthrow her family. Sansa Stark.

What little she had heard of Lady Sansa painted the girl as a kind, sensitive soul. _Little birds_ had whispered in her ear of the Stark girl’s torturous stay in King’s Landing in the claws of Cersei Lannister and her monstrous spawn Joffrey. After being pawned off to the Imp, she somehow managed to escape the capital and find her way back to her home; although 'home' was not a word Daenerys would use under similar circumstances. It was clear that Sansa needed, and would be amenable to, a friend. No matter the Bolton hold on Winterfell, Sansa was its true heir; the true **Queen of the North**.

Servants and housemaids welcomed her into the Hall with eyes ill-adjusted to light and skin layered in soot and grime. Perhaps she had not left Essos after all. A chorus of hushed whispers rose into the atmosphere as the dragon queen stepped past the threshold and adjusted her furs. The clothing made especially for the unwelcoming climate felt awkward and heavy on a body that was used to light gowns and bare arms. These northerners had no reason to look at her the way the people of Astapor and Meereen had; she was not one of them, and she never would be. Of utmost importance, she had been warned that these northerners were loyal only to the Starks, no matter who burned down Winterfell.

Which brought her to the present: Ramsay Bolton, bastard made legitimate by decree of the cub king Tommen Baratheon. A child had scribbled his name on a piece of paper and made a Lord of the creature standing before her. Ramsey was not particularly tall nor broad, there was a severe handsomeness to his face which was quickly dashed by the most hollow eyes Dany had ever seen. They were ice personified; endless plates of cold loathing interrupted by two pinpricks for pupils. They gripped Daenerys in her place and chilled her to the bone. Before either made words, this Lord of Ice bent at the waist slightly and bowed before her. The gesture may have looked sincere but the expression in his eyes made a mockery of the courtesy.  
“Queen Daenerys Targaryen.” His voice was almost as alarming as his eyes.  
“You have traveled a long way from Meereen. I was instructed to offer you supper immediately. I hope that suits you?” Again, there was such a lack of sincerity in his tone and gesture it shook Dany unreasonably. She nodded, knocking words into her mouth.  
“Please. It has been a very long journey.”  
But breaking bread with a Bolton did not necessarily grant her safety.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sansa Stark was a bird in a cage, and caged birds don’t sing.  
She was caged in King’s Landing confined in manipulation and guilt and fear of her impending death. It seemed she was always under someone else’s thumb; a puppet fastened on the strings of her innocence. Only, her innocence was quickly fraying.

All she had wanted in this world was to go home. She had prayed in the Godswood of King’s Landing for her safe return to Winterfell, and inside of her head on the journey there. She had gotten what she had prayed for: her return to her home. Only, her safety here was of no guarantee.

Ramsay Bolton was so terrible a monster it became difficult for Sansa to decide if her fate would have exponentially better married to Joffrey. The late king may have been undoubtedly cruel and manipulative, but her current husband was no man at all but rather a beast in human skin. The way he looked at her made her flesh crawl, and when he touched her she wanted to cry. He had taken command of Winterfell, and in turn her life. All Sansa could pray for now was that his seed would not take to her womb; she could not have his children.

—————————————————————————————————–--------------------------------------------

When she woke the morning of the dragons’ arrival she still felt as though she were dreaming. At the very least Ramsey had allowed her to sleep in a bed of her own when he wasn’t interested in forcing himself on her, and she stayed there beneath the furs for a long while. It was not until a maid came to her and urged her to take a bath that she pulled herself from her bed; a queen was coming to visit them after all. But any queen with interest in the Boltons was of no hope for Sansa, no matter if the name she bore was Targaryen.

Still being a creature of courtesy and kindness, Sansa donned a lovely winter gown of forest green, brushed her long coppery hair, and fixed a brooch worked into the shape of a direwolf between her breasts. She looked like a true Stark, but she felt like a mess.

However when a deafening vortex of wind and snow appeared from the sky, the girl rushed to the best view of the courtyard from within the castle walls and beheld a sight she never believed her eyes would see in her lifetime. They were large but certainly not fully grown although their leathery wings expanded the length of Winterfell’s tallest tower. All the snow had melted beneath the heat of their bodies while more smoke poured from their nostrils. There were three and they were beyond magnificent and frightening. Sansa held fast to this sight; dragons in the north. The last time this had happened was when Queen Alysanne visited the Wall of the back of a dragon she called Silverwing. Only now there was a queen named Daenerys and she brought three of the scaly creatures with her.

Supper time arrived before Sansa realized she had not eaten anything that day. As much as she would prefer to take her meal in her room, it would be beyond rude to insult Queen Daenerys like that. She trudged to the Great Hall, allowing herself the composure time she would need to face this dinner as the gracious Lady of the castle. At the very least she was certain that Ramsey would be expecting his wife to be on her best, most lady-like behavior; wasn’t she always? Sansa wore her courtesy like armour.

She entered the Hall to see the table set and prepared for the food to arrive in front of them; whatever the cook prepared smelled lovely, surely fit for a queen’s visit. She kept her eyes down after spotting her husband and going to stand beside him as an obidient wife should. She felt Ramsay tense beside her as if she had already done something to embarrass him. “My wife,” he now introduced her. “Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” The girl bowed deeply to the woman standing before her, keeping her gaze averted. The one called Daenerys shifted, and Sansa could feel eyes on her. “My first meeting of a Stark of Winterfell. I am honored, Lady Sansa.” Her voice was kind yet strong; clearly one that should belong to a woman in command. Sansa allowed herself to look at the queen’s legs, clothed in riding pants hidden beneath a woolen blue slitted dress. Her gaze followed the length of the legs to the hands clasped in front of the torso, a ring donned on a slender index finger. Then Sansa could not stop herself from reaching the rest of the way to the face. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of a true Targaryen standing in her home. The hair white as snow, and those unusual purple eyes stared back at her. Sansa had once thought Queen Cersei to be the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, but Daenerys was much more so. Her face was perfectly womanly yet fierce, while her hair fell in loose ringlets almost to her waist. Suddenly Sansa felt like a child under the scrutiny of Her Grace.

“Your Grace,” she addressed the silver woman. “It is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to Winterfell. Please, do not hesitate to make yourself comfortable during your stay.” It was a courtesy to say so but Sansa felt it genuinely; the more time she had to study this woman, the better. Suddenly Ramsey spoke again, his voice grating into Sansa’s daydream. “Enough idle chit-chat. Queen Daenerys has come a long way and our food is getting cold.”

The three seated themselves at the table; Ramsey at the head as Lord and host, with Daenerys to his right side in the place of honor, while Sansa sat opposite the dragon queen. The meal they were brought came in several courses; clearly Ramsay had not wanted their esteemed guest to think poorly of the North and the House of Bolton. Much of it was fare common to the north but food the queen had never before tasted. Sansa watched as Daenerys sipped at the winter soup carefully. She was polite in her praises, and whether or not it was genuine it made Sansa feel proud. Ramsay on the other hand ate and slurped like the animal he was, drinking far too much wine and asking the queen inappropriate questions about her personal life. The boy was and would always be a bastard, no matter any piece of paper that named him otherwise. But Daenerys was perfectly poised in answering in a way appropriate for a guest, especially when it came to her dragons; Ramsay’s favorite new topic.

“Those beasts of yours must put the fear of the seven hells into your subjects.” He said in between picking his teeth with a pheasant bone. Sansa grimaced, and Daenerys caught her. “They may very well, but my children are protective of those they see as worthy. They would never harm without my command.” The mother of dragons smiled secretly at Sansa, and the girl hid her face in her wine cup. Ramsey grunted. “Well if I had a triplet of dragons I wouldn’t waste their potential. No, the whole damn realm would know about them and what they can destroy.” The table fell silent aside from the smacking noises of Lord Ramsey’s chewing. Sansa snuck another look at the woman sitting across from her to see her pushing her main course around on her plate. Clearly Daenerys was offended and annoyed with Ramsey, but the Bolton was too cocky to realize it, or to care. He drew his wine glass up, after having it refilled for the fifth time, and declared between mouthfuls, “a toast to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, mother of dragons and protector of her people.” The two women raised their own cups in suit although neither looked pleased with the mocking way Ramsey drained his glass into his disgusting mouth. Sansa desperately wished to apologize to the queen but knew it would only poke the hornet’s nest that was her increasingly drunken husband; if she embarrassed him surely she would not make it to the sanctuary of her own bed this night. 

Moments later the servants wheeled out the dessert course, which to Sansa’s surprise was a mountain of lemon cakes. Ramsay clapped his hands together in delight. “Aha! A favorite of my wife’s.” As if he had known so much about her and did everything to please her. The cakes were set down in front of the three and Ramsay wasted no time placing one on Sansa’s plate. “Oh, Sansa could eat this entire mountain by herself, couldn’t you, my lady?” He forked a piece with his own utensil and brandished it before Sansa’s mouth, trying to feed her like a babe. “Open up, my love.” He waggled the fork in front of her nose, and Sansa had no choice but to take the bite from Ramsay as he wanted. Her face felt flushed and she knew that it would be red with embarrassment. The taste of the cake felt sour in her mouth as she chewed slowly and swallowed despite the lump in her throat. Daenerys had not taken a cake for herself at all, and Ramsay noticed. “Are you not a fan of lemon cakes, my queen? If not, I can have Cook whip up something more to your liking.” But Daenerys merely shook her head and claimed, “I am full from the previous courses, Lord Ramsey, thank-you kindly. The food was excellent.” Only it seemed to Sansa that the queen only wished to save the Stark from any more teasing. Ramsay reclined in his seat after having stuffed an entire cake into his own mouth and patted his stomach. “I am glad to hear you enjoy our food. I had to keep Cook around, even if he is a Stark sympathizer. His food is too damn good to waste.” He spat out the word ‘Stark’ like it was the worst thing one could say. “It is late, and I shall like to retire to my rooms if that suits you, My Lord.” Daenerys’ declaration was a wave of relief to Sansa, knowing this nightmare would end shortly and that she could fall into a coma-like slumber. “Right, right. I cannot keep a queen from her beauty rest I suppose.” Ramsay snapped his fingers at a maid who was standing post on the wall behind him. “Show our queenly guest to her chambers, and give her whatever she needs.” But Daenerys interrupted, “actually, I’d like the Lady Sansa to show me to my rooms if that suits you, Lord Ramsay.” The three exchanged glances: Sansa surprised, Daenerys pointed, and Ramsay confused. “Alright. Good. I suppose the exercise up to the tower would do my wife good after this rich meal. I do like my wife pretty.” Ramsay sneered before he excused himself to retire to his own chambers, and Sansa prayed that he would quickly fall into a drunken sleep and leave her alone tonight.

—————————————————————————————————---------------------------------------------------- 

The trip to the tower where Daenerys’ guest rooms had been made up went in silence, and Sansa did not mind that at all. Her mind was racing as to why the queen wanted her to be the attendant and whether or not she would say anything to her about their retched meal-time. Sansa felt at fault for what had happened, and knew that it would be the kind thing to do to apologize to Daenerys. When they reached her door, Sansa did just that. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I hope you were not offended this night. My Lord husband is….”  
“A rude heathen?” Daenerys finished for her.  
Sansa’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red and her mouth fell agape. “No, I would never say such a thing.”  
“You might not, but I just did, My Lady.”  
Daenerys opened the intricate door and stepped inside, grabbing hold of Sansa’s wrist and pulling her along. All the Stark could do was follow the queen inside and wait for whatever would happen next.

Daenerys led them to a pair of plush chairs beside a tray set with a decanter of sweet dessert wine and crystal glasses; the best the castle retained after the siege. The queen wasted no time in pouring out two glasses and handing one to Sansa, which she had no choice but to take thankfully. The silver-haired settled herself in the opposite armchair and took a healthy sip of the golden wine before setting her violet eyes on Sansa. “You’re scared. Is it of me?” Daenerys looked sympathetic. Sansa shook her head quickly. “No, Your Grace. You are very intriguing but not frightening.” It was the most Sansa had gotten to speak her mind in a long while. “Unless you wish to be frightening…”

Daenerys laughed in a very pleasant way, and it made the redhead smile. “I do not wish to frighten you; that was why I asked.” She set her glass aside and crossed her arms in her lap as she leaned forward to look at Sansa in a terribly honest manner. The girl felt another blush creep up her neck, but she boldly met eyes with the Targaryen. “I know quite a bit about you already, Sansa.” Her words shocked, and Sansa began to worry what exactly she had heard. “How?” She wanted to know.  
“Little birds told me.”  
Varys. The spider. Sansa’s brow furrowed.  
“Only good things. Great things.” Daenerys sounded reassuring. “You have been through far too much for one so young, even though I am not many years older at all—– and I know what loss is as well.”  
Of course she did. Daenerys was the last Targaryen in this world. She had been forced into hiding, and no doubt had lived a childhood in fear. Sansa on the other hand had lived a wonderful childhood in Winterfell with her parents, her brothers and sister, her sewing and her songs… But that was gone now. It seemed to Sansa Stark that she and Daenerys Targaryen had traded lives. While one was born with nothing, she now had dragons, an army, and a strong chance of winning the Iron Throne; while Sansa had everything as a child, she had fallen into nothingness. Daenerys must have sensed some sadness in the other woman’s face, for she leaned forward until their knees touched and placed a warm hand over Sansa’s cold one. “We have both survived so much, you and I. I hope for you to trust me.”

Words were caught in the middle of her throat as tears brimmed in her blue eyes. “Why would you want that, Your Grace? Why would you show me such kindness?” A single tear fell onto Sansa’s steel cheek. “I am the daughter of the man who helped send your family into extinction; the daughter and heir of Eddard Stark. I was betrothed to a Baratheon, and then wed to a Lannister. There is nothing I have done to help your cause.” More tears clouded Sansa’s view of the sympathetic dragon queen who could only be a dream; that was it, wasn’t it? Sansa was in a dream and when she woke from this she would still be alone; a wolf in a sea of flayed men. But Daenerys squeezed her hand as if to prove that it wasn’t a dream. “That is all true, yes, I already know. You may be an obvious enemy to my cause but you are the Queen in the North no matter what the Boltons say. The northerners are still loyal to your family, and they always will be. I do not need a Bolton on my side. I need a Stark. I need you.”

Sansa’s teary eyes met Daenerys’ and a strange hope blossomed within them. How was it that still still managed to feel hopeful after everything had been dashed to pieces? “It is a betrayal. I am married to a Bolton…” But she knew that the people of the north would never accept them as their true Lords; she had known all along. Could this woman be her saviour; her unlikely justice? Not all heroes are knights. “What will happen when you take the throne; to the Boltons, to the Lannisters?” She had to whisper it, as if the castle walls had ears. Daenerys no longer looked sympathetic as she answered Sansa’s inquiry with blunt honesty. “They will die. All of them.” The heir to Winterfell swallowed hard and finally nodded; a single word escaped her lips: “good.”


	2. Ladies Among Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys shares an important part of her with Sansa.

The following few days passed by in a pattern of secret meetings the two women held behind both closed doors and Ramsay’s back. Queen Daenerys had reassured Sansa of their privacy numerous times but the Stark girl was witlessly afraid of being caught. She had agreed to something wicked; as righteous as it may have felt to aid Daenerys against Ramsay. The Lord of Bolton on the other hand seemed to have no suspicions about the time his wife spent alone with the Targaryen; when he was even aware that such meetings were taking place. While their conspiracies were kept behind closed doors long after Ramsay had retired to bed, they made certain that when he was awake and aware that their time spent together appeared to be as innocent as two young highborn women talking frivolously. The Bolton had even commented to prove he assumed as much: “This queen is very gracious to spend her precious time in the company of my empty-headed wife,” he had announced right in front of Sansa.

Daenerys detested Ramsay, and she almost always came up with a colorful new way to describe the way she felt about him when Sansa was seated in the queen’s guest chambers. Although Sansa did not participate in the slander, oftentimes she giggled and blushed at her companion’s bluntness. Until one particular instance when Sansa let slip the graphic way her husband mistreated her in his bed. The reveal made a grim line of Daenerys’ mouth while her eyes brewed a storm in their purple depths. “Valar Morghulis” she had told Sansa in her native tongue, “all men must die.” 

And Sansa had held fast to that Valyrian phrase ever since. Surely this silver queen had seen her fair share of death; surely she had been the cause of many of those deaths. There was power in her rare eyes, and strength in her young face. No man would be frightened of her on looks alone but that was precisely why Sansa admired her. 

Like Daenerys, no one would expect Sansa to be a threat. Only, the Targaryen queen had grown beyond that point and now everyone knew who she was what she was capable of. Sansa was still just a girl; a puppet. She had never killed anyone nor had she ever seriously considered it despite her reasons to. All her strength was held inside, and it was not the type of strength that was typically found. Her kindness was her sword; her quiet words her shield; _her courtesy her armor_. She was intelligent and polite and lady-like to a fault; there was not a single thing about Sansa to fear. That was what made her powerful.

But there was no power that Sansa witnessed greater than the three scaled beasts that Queen Daenerys had brought along with her from Meereen. She referred to them lovingly as her children despite their immense mass and capability to burn anything and everything in sight. A little bird should have feared these monstrous animals, but Sansa could only manage to be very intrigued.

Daenerys seemed to understand this; she even seemed to take pleasure in it. This night the two found themselves with the run of the castle, as Ramsay had taken a group out hunting. Sansa shuddered at the thought of what was happening in the Godswood of her ancestors but felt relief at not being left alone with her dark thoughts. 

Daenerys had taken Sansa’s small hand without any warning and led her outside into the chill. The white fur at the queen’s collar blended in with her hair and illuminated the dark air around her; it was hard to look away. But look away Sansa did as she realized where they were headed. 

The broken courtyard was littered with animal bones charred black. The sight caused Sansa to freeze in place but Daenerys let go of her hand to give her an encouraging look. Silent conversation passed between their eyes in which the queen seemed to tell Sansa that everything would be alright. With a small nod of her auburn head, the Stark continued after the silver woman.

Eyes of gold lit up in the darkness like huge coins. Smoke rose from the nostrils of the three beasts, smelling like fire. Upon seeing Daenerys, their mother, the trio lifted her faces towards her and made noises that sounded almost affectionate. Without hesitation she walked into the smoky cloud of the nearest and placed her delicate hand on its black snout. The dragon purred, its eyes fixed intently on her. 

Sansa stood rooted in awe as she watched the young woman touch this fabled creature as easily as a fine silk. After another private moment where girl and dragon seemed to understand each other, Daenerys turned back towards Sansa and motioned her forward with a bright smile that lit up the night. 

She moved on leaden feet, stepping over the discarded bones; more food than any army of men could eat, and these beings had devoured it all.

Now she could feel the heat from their collective bodies warming the gooseflesh beneath her gowns. Her eyes refused to leave the hypnotic stare of the black dragon in front of her, and although he looked at her with nothing but curiosity, Sansa still remained in the safety behind the Targaryen. “This one is Drogon,” she told her host in a soft voice; just like one would introduce a dear friend. “I named him for my lost son.”

Sansa had never known this very intimate fact about Daenerys, and she felt it grip her own heart; they had both lost those whom they loved. “The other two I call Rhaegal and Viserion in honor of my late brothers.” The cream and green dragons seemed to recognize their names as they eyed the two humans. This pair was smaller in size compared to Drogon, but still considerably large. The three dominated the courtyard entirely, their long tails curling around fallen roots and their wings folded tightly against their thick scales. “They’re beautiful,” Sansa breathed. Daenerys seemed pleased with that sentiment, for she grabbed hold of Sansa’s hand again and lifted it towards Drogon’s nose. 

The younger woman nearly let out a gasp but her fear was inexplicably absent. Her fingers stretched beneath Daenerys’ as they reached the dragon’s snout. Sansa felt the inhale of breath as Drogon made himself familiar with her scent, and then the warm exhale that blew her hair back when he was satisfied. She let out laughter, thrilled by this experience. “He likes you,” Daenerys whispered. Feeling braver, Sansa allowed her fingertips to graze the rough scales and Drogon still did not move. The more she looked at him, at them all, the more she understood why the dragon queen felt so strongly for them. They were her family, her closest friends, her _children_.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had now been a guest of Winterfell for weeks. The more time she spent in the wintery castle, the more she detested its warden but the more she delighted in its queen.

Sansa was truly as kind and good-hearted as she had been painted. The evenings they spent alone sipping wine and gossiping had become the thing that Daenerys looked forward to the most. Never before had she felt a camaraderie like this one. They were both high-born ladies who had survived so many horrible nightmares, and yet they were both still alive.

As poorly of Ramsay Bolton Dany spoke in the privacy of her borrowed chambers, Sansa Stark had never said anything in addition; it seemed as if the girl hadn’t an evil bone in her body. Before, Dany would have never believed it to be true of a Stark. 

Most of all the dragon queen liked that she was beginning to trust Sansa. She still deeply wanted her alliance, but now she was also finding that she wanted her friendship as well. She had said as much too, and Sansa had agreed with a girlish smile.

When she thought to introduce the she-wolf to her dragons it seemed only the natural next thing to do. Although their actions could never quiet be predicted, Dany felt a confidence in her gut that her scaly children would accept the girl. She had told them about her one private night sitting in the courtyard after the castle had fallen asleep. Speaking of Sansa made her smile, and thinking of helping her realize her true power made Dany feel excited. Women were the strong ones, that she truly believed, and Sansa Stark was one the the strongest women Daenerys had ever encountered.

Her hand had felt fragile and as cold as Winterfell’s walls, but Daenerys had taken it and led the girl down to the makeshift keep. Everything was dark save for her children’s glowing eyes. She could understand how the sight could seem terrifying, and she vowed not to push Sansa if she truly did not want to be near the dragons. 

Only she had. With but little encouragement from Dany, Sansa Stark had felt the hot skin of Drogon; she had come into his very small circle of those he trusted. It had only been one small meeting, but Daenerys knew that her children would not harm Sansa after this. The same could not be said for anyone else here in Winterfell...

That night after the women had parted for sleep, Dany remained awake too deep in her own thoughts. She had come here only hoping to show herself as an option to the heir of Winterfell, but now she could only think about what mattered most in her entire journey: _the dragon has three heads_. 

What if Sansa was one of the three? 

In the past the queen had tossed around several options on who the remaining two would be; the two who would ride by her side to take the Iron Throne. Sansa had experience with King’s Landing, and with the absolute worst of Westerosi politics. That coupled with the secret strength the girl possessed made her a very viable possibility to be one of the dragon’s fearsome heads. 

She was the first woman Dany had considered, but it made sense to her. _Look how far I have come from the spiteful child I once was_. It was not long ago that she wished all the Westerosi lords and ladies dead; those Baratheon sympathizers and allies to the bloodied crown. Never would she ever have had the daughter of Eddard Stark on her radar, and now she could not stop thinking that she may very well be one of the most important people to her cause.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where is Roose Bolton, My Lady?” Daenerys had her arm looped through Sansa’s as they strolled outdoors. 

The absence of the Warden of the North had not gone unnoticed by her, although she was not complaining. 

Daenerys had sent word to Winterfell of her pending arrival; she was coming whether the Bolton lord accepted it or not. He had been in no smart position to turn her away after having barely recovered from the siege. Not only that but dragon’s fire had a way of being very persuasive.

“Visiting the other northern Houses,” Sansa answered. “He took Lady Walda with him, thinking that it would be a good idea to improve relations.” But Dany saw the fault in that.

“The Northerners do not trust the Boltons, nor do they even like them. They will never bend the knee to Roose, or to Ramsay.” Again she spoke freely. Of course the Stark heir knew this but would never admit it aloud in fear it would reach the ears of her husband.

“They would all rather die than accept the Boltons as Wardens of the North.”

And perhaps they would also rather die than see another Targaryen sit the Iron Throne.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as the girls trapsed arm in arm past the quiet trees. In the distance the smoky breath of her dragons rose into the air like clouds. Roose Bolton was missing out on a rather fascinating sight indeed.

“Lord Bolton said that he hopes to return before you leave, Your Grace.” Sansa's courtesies were never absent; Daenerys could count on that.

She smiled venomously. “I am sure he is very anxious to meet me.” There was no use disguising the bitterness in her voice.

She would much rather have just one Bolton to contend with than two; especially when one had a reputation for kingslaying.

“I don't want to talk about Roose Bolton anymore. Or ever. I want to tell you about where I came from.” Dany turned her face towards Sansa’s with its cheeks reddened by the cold.

“Please, Your Grace. I'd love to hear your stories.”  
“Only if you promise to stop calling me ‘Your Grace’; it’s too formal. Just call me Daenerys.”

Sansa’s cheeks turned even redder. “If you say so, Daenerys.” She tested the way the name sounded.

It felt liberating for someone to call her by first name only, to leave the formalities behind. She wanted Sansa to see her as more than just another queen; she wanted the girl to feel comfortable with her in a way she had never felt comfortable with anyone before.

So Daenerys carried on with her promised story:

“I am not sure if you have heard that I grew up in Braavos, or rather that was where I spent my childhood.” Because Daenerys had done a great deal of growing beyond those city limits.

“It was truly the only place I could ever consider home, even to this day.” Had she ever had the opportunity to talk about Braavos like this, about the house with the red door and the lemon tree? “I had no family, only my older brother Viserys; I was constantly surrounded by strangers who claimed to give their lives for his cause.” 

“Then when Viserys died, people began to vow themselves to my cause.”

But was her cause so different than her tormented brother’s had been?

She still saw his violet eyes gripped with terror as the molten gold oozed down his face and made a mess of his flesh. 

Daenerys closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. A gentle hand touched her shoulder.  
“Daenerys?” Sansa’s quiet voice drifted over her.

“Forgive me.”  
“It must be difficult to talk about your brother. I had a brother... Three brothers.”

The silver girl felt her jaw set itself in a grim hold. The King in the North. She had heard, she had known.

“We are both without family, aren’t we?” There was a particular darkness to Dany’s voice that frightened even her. Both without family and surrounded by monsters of different breeds; what a way for two ladies to live.

She tried smiling at her companion, seeing if it would illicit a smile in return. She wanted to tell Sansa that there was no looking back, only forward but Daenerys knew well the cards she had been dealt: in order to go forward you must go back.

“I suppose what I was trying to share was that I am taking challenges as they come. When my dragons were hatched I had my sights set on King’s Landing and the Iron Throne alone; now my heart beats for a place I can call home.”

Sansa sighed softly beside her: “I understand.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night the girl lay restless in her bed; eyes trained at the ceiling for what felt like countless hours but they would not tire. Sansa sat up and looked towards the cloudy window.

Over her night robe she donned a thick coat and hastily forced on her boots; there would be no time to dress properly or else she would change her mind.

The snow had stopped but it piled thick against the castle walls and crunched under foot as Sansa bent her head and walked forward.

Rounding the corner her nostrils were instantly assaulted by the scent of charred meat; but it was not at all appetizing. Her eyes blinked against the acrid, smoke-filled air uselessly. 

The three scaly animals were huddled together appearing like one large dragon with three heads. Sansa halted when she saw that their eyes were on her.

This had been a bad idea. 

How could she think that this could possibly be safe without Daenerys to soothe them? 

She could feel her heart beat in her throat but her feet kept moving forward, her hand already out in front of her despite still being a good fifty yards away. 

The trio only watched her unblinkingly, as if curious about the nerve she possibly possessed. 

Her breath billowed in front of her like the smoke from the still-burning cow carcass; it could only be a matter of seconds before Sansa could end up just like that cow.

With every step she took though, Sansa thought of the way they had acted before, the way they looked at Daenerys, what Ramsay would say if he knew she had touched them...

Ramsay would probably never be respected by a dragon.

Now twenty yards away, the green craned its neck and cocked its head. Sansa locked eyes with it. Rhaegal, Queen Daenerys had called this one. _Like my late brother Rhaegar Targaryen_. 

The very same Rhaegar who had allegedly kidnapped her aunt Lyanna.

The beast regarded the girl with large gold eyes. His nostrils flared as he began taking in her scent. Sansa watched her own fingers in front of the dragon’s nose, thinking just how quickly those fingers could be gone.

But then something incredible happened: Rhaegal pressed his snout to Sansa’s palm and held it there.

Silent understanding passed between them; a connection Sansa had never felt since she had Lady. 

Her fingers stroked the scales, and Rhaegal purred. The other two watched but did not move; they seemed to regard this interaction with respect.

What would her father say if he knew there were dragons in Winterfell, her mother, Robb, Ayra, Bran, Rickon, and even Jon? 

Who could have predicted such a fantastic thing would happen, and who would have believed that Sansa would be standing among the last three dragons alive?


	3. Reek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys makes a discovery that throws her into conflict.

_The world is cruel but you are much crueler._

Daenerys Targaryen sat in front of the looking glass as a handmaiden brushed out her long locks of silver gold. The girl used strokes so gentle that they barely touched her hair at all; she was afraid of the queen of dragons, that much was clear.

Dany had tried meeting her eyes in the reflection of the mirror but the girl would look away the moment she saw the color purple.

Everyone in Winterfell save for Sansa and Lord Ramsay were visibly shaken by the Targaryen. 

Servers set her food in front of her as if she would eat off their fingers if they weren't quick enough, the stable hand quit on the spot as soon as he had laid his eyes on the dragons, and many of Ramsay’s men at arms kept their hands at their sword hips.

It was as if they were all expecting another siege to take place, and they knew that the Boltons would not win this time.

There was one individual however whom Dany had only seen lurking about in the shadows.

Likely he was a servant, but the way he smelled led her to believe that he was a misplaced kennel boy; a foul odor of mud and unwashed flesh lingered wherever he had recently been.

She had never seen his face but Daenerys knew that he had been watching her from the places he could remain invisible to someone who wasn't looking.

Well, now Daenerys Stormborn was looking.

She excused the frightened handmaiden before her work was finished, and dressed herself in a plain gray gown; nothing that she would have ever worn as the Queen of Meereen.

Tucking her hair into the wide hood of a wool cloak, the dragon’s daughter stepped carefully along the passages of Winterfell.

The last she had seen of the stranger’s back he had been wandering near the kitchens, likely snatching scraps as it did not seem fathomable that Ramsay would allow a creature like that anywhere near his food. Even a dog has its limits.

Daenerys followed her nose but it told her that the boy was not in the area anymore. She would have to look elsewhere.

There were so many undiscovered parts of Winterfell that she itched to search but it would only waste too much time; she had to stick to the parts she knew he had been before: the Great Hall, the armory, the library tower... Then she suddenly had a thought: the kennels.

His smell made it most likely that he worked with Ramsay’s beasts. 

She knew just where the kennel was but had never had reason to venture there. In fact, Daenerys much rather would have avoided it throughout the duration of her stay if it were possible; these dogs belonged to Ramsay completely.

Rounding the corner she recognized the smell. The dogs in their stalls were whining and whimpering as she stepped past them; they all smelled the dragons on her. No dog would dare stand up to a dragon.

Every cage was full save for the one at the very end of the stone passage. Inside there was only a stack of hay, until Dany saw a lump moving.

Her fingers curled around the metal bars as her eyes stared in at the heap of man curled in around himself.  
“Who are you?” She demanded.

The lump jumped in a fright and turned its bewildered face towards her. He looked just as filthy as he smelled.

He could not have been much older than she, but certainly weighed less; he was so bony that his ragged clothes hung from him uselessly. His hair was matted and full of hay, and his gray eyes were staring wildly.

He didn’t answer. The unwashed boy only gaped at her with an open mouth.

“I want to know who you are. Answer me.” She would not look away from him, nor would she leave until he answered her at least this.

Dany had known that he had been following her around the castle like a spy, which meant that he could very well know that she and Sansa had been meeting together in private. It would most certainly reach Ramsay’s ears if that were the case.

Finally the slack-jawed servant began to speak: “Reek. My name is Reek.”

What sort of a name was Reek ? It reminded Dany of the slave names her Unsullied had before she made them free men.

“Why do you live in the kennels, Reek?” She would not allow her face to be anything but stern.

“B-because Lord Ramsay tells me to, Your- uh...”

“---- Daenerys. Call me Daenerys.  
And do you do everything that Lord Ramsay tells you to?”

“Oh yes, D-Daenerys... I always do what Lord Ramsay asks of me. It will make him mad otherwise.”

Daenerys studied the creature. She had no doubt now that Reek was a spy for Ramsay. What she needed to do now was pry as much information from this man as possible.

“Lord Ramsay trusts you doesn’t he, Reek?” She added a note of understanding to her voice, wanting him to believe that they were on the same side.

Reek nodded fervently, hugging his bony knees to his chest like a child.

“What about Lady Sansa, does she trust you too?”

Now Reek looked down forlornly before shaking his head. 

He was Ramsay’s creature and Ramsay’s alone. He would spy on Lady Sansa if he was asked of it and Daenerys could only assume that he had been.

“I want you to trust me too.” It was a necessary lie; she needed Reek’s trust in order to get the information that she needed from him. 

Spying could be a two-way path if that was how Ramsay wanted to conduct things here.

Reek looked warily at the dragon queen through tufts of dirty hair. His expression was difficult to read behind the sadness that seemed permanent. This boy had not lived a good life here.

Daenerys gripped the metal bars passionately, almost shaking them. “Please, Reek. I want Lord Ramsay’s friends to be mine as well. It is clear to me that he trusts you more than anyone else in Winterfell and that makes you a top priority to me.”

That seemed to spark some intrigue into the vacant eyes. Reek looked at Dany again for a moment before nodding his head slowly. “Okay.”

She smiled a lovely queen’s smile before bidding him goodnight and turning back.

When Daenerys was outside and around the corner she coughed and took big gulps of fresh air. 

What kind of condition was that to keep a human being in?

The rot and filth and stench that boy lived in brought Dany back to Essos, to Astapor, and Meereen; those slaves who had lived worse than dogs.

Ironically enough, Reek was living among dogs.

Her hand found purchase on the cold stones of the castle as the queen felt a hard egg in her throat. It constricted her breathing and made her feel even more anxious.

The Boltons were more monstrous than she had been thinking.

But she could be monstrous too; she was a dragon, a true monster. _Mother of monsters._

The last thing Daenerys wanted to do was unleash hell upon Winterfell; it had already seen enough of that. But this was certainly no civilized castle, no way for the wardens of the north to rule.

If she was not willing to cleanse this place with dragon fire, then she had to dismantle the power here entirely.

That could mean tarnishing her growing alliance with Sansa Stark.

The cold wall felt relieving on her back as Dany leaned against it. If only her mind could be so easily calmed.

As much as she may have not wanted to allow her children to decimate the castle, she didn’t want to lose Sansa’s trust even more.

Winterfell was still the Stark’s home and would be forever; the Targaryen may never know a true home, which was perhaps why she felt particularly conflicted.

Furthermore, she could not share her consideration of the Bolton’s deaths with Sansa for two reasons: the girl would not go along with it, and there was Reek.

Reek.

That kennel boy had instituted an entirely new beast for the dragon to contend with; a creature with Ramsay’s powerful hatred behind him.

Her attitude towards servitude granted pity for the boy, but her political mind advised her to get rid of him as well.

If there was no more Ramsay, then that would make Reek useless anyway.

But could she find a place for him in her charge as she had with the others?

He was weak both physically and mentally, and Daenerys refused to keep slaves. Killing him would be more of a mercy than anything.

This conflict would spread out in her mind like the world’s largest map complete with twists and turns to throw her from her morals.

Suddenly the queen was remembering the execution she had held in Meereen. She hadn’t swung the blade but her hands were just as bloody.

There was no real reason to kill Reek regardless of the Bolton’s hold on him.

Daenerys re-entered the castle feeling sick to her stomach.

She retired to her room early that night and spoke to no one. In her borrowed bed she curled her knees to her chest and held herself tightly the way no one else had before.

Dany fell into a fitful sleep long before the darkest hour, and when she woke as the sky was turning gray she was drenched in sweat.

Her dreams had been filled with fire and the smell of burning flesh; she would never lose that smell.

In her dream the snow motes of Winterfell had all melted away to reveal black grass below, and a path made of human bones that led her to the pit in Meereen.

Below there were all kinds of faces she recognized, and they were all slaughtering each other. She saw Daario Naharis strangle Grey Worm, and Jorah the Andal slice through Missandei’s precious face. Then Daenerys saw Ramsay Bolton lashing a beautiful woman of auburn with chains. 

When Dream Dany looked down in her hand she held a whip.

That nightmare pressed on the forefront of her mind to create a headache between her eyes.

She spent the entire morning in solitary.

Her handmaiden came only once to try to rouse her but Daenerys rushed her off easily; still these northerners feared her like the Stranger.

Only once did she think about calling for Sansa, but this was not her place to do so; she was a guest here, queen or not.

So it was that Daenerys Targaryen alone tried to mend her bent emotions in the wake of her horrible subconscious.

It only made for fear of sleeping again.

Already a full day had passed since she had last seen her dragons, and Dany knew that the trio would soon be beside themselves if she did not come today.

But how could she look at them with these terrifying thoughts rolling around in her head? 

What if she could not control herself, or what if her children were so intuitive as to know what she had been thinking?

_Do dragons dream? Surely they must, wouldn’t they? They are intelligent enough, they feel too._

If only she could know what exactly it was a dragon would dream about, but then Daenerys was thinking that she truly did not need to know.

She steadied herself enough to move to the window where she tried to look for signs of movement.

She pulled the fur throw tighter against her as her eyes scanned the white landscape until the blinding light only made her headache worse.

It was well into the afternoon when her stomach finally won over her hectic thoughts, and Dany called for lunch.

Eating got her strength up, and then she was able to dress and tidy herself.

Alone in the hollow halls, Daenerys knew of the place she wished to seek but not how to find it.

All of her knowledge of the castle had been gifted to her by its sole heir, and so Daenerys had to move by memory of one of her first conversations with Sansa.

Her feet carried her to the First Keep where her memory served her right, and a twisting staircase that led deep into the ground presented itself.

Satisfied that she was not being followed, Daenerys descended into the earth.

It was a long way down, as she had been expecting.

The stairs wound deep and deeper until they stopped at an oddly slanted door.

It was large and beautiful but suddenly Dany was thinking of the vaults in Qarth.

With both hands she pushed at the wrought iron door until it budged open, and inside she slipped.

The crypt of Winterfell was ancient, and the Targaryen was immediately greeted by its ghosts.

The carved stone faces looked at her in honorable suspicion as she stepped in and out of the shadows of the torches.

None of them she recognized by face, but some names sounded familiar as she recalled them from the stories she had heard.

There was an impossible amount of Stark faces here but there was one in particular that Daenerys sought to look upon.

She found her not deep into the crypt.

Lyanna Stark was lovely even shaped in rock.

She stood wreathed in a crown of winter roses, the ones that Dany had known to be blue as frozen lips; the ones she had known her brother Rhaegar to gift the Stark girl when he named her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Had Lyanna been angry, had she scorned Rhaegar for such an obvious scandal?

Or had she loved him the way no one truly believed she did?

Dany’s lips parted as if she were to speak, but what could a little dragon have to say to a she-wolf?

She could think that perhaps Rhaegar would still be alive if he hadn’t loved her so, but Daenerys knew better than that.

Lyanna was at no fault for the death of the prince.

“You did start a war thought,” Dany whispered at the stone. _And I will end it._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_I have a very important job for you, Reek. Likely the most important job yet._

It had been three days ago that the Lord of Bolton had sat before a kneeling Reek. 

_I am going hunting with my men and leaving you in charge of watching the Lady Sansa and Queen Daenerys for me._

The way he had said queen denoted that he was not sincere about the title; Ramsay was not particularly fond of Daenerys Targaryen but he was very fond of her three fiery dragons. 

Often he would look in the general direction of the courtyard while talking ardently about them, licking his lips and grinning like a fox. 

Reek knew that if he ever found a way, Lord Ramsay would steal those beasts for himself; and then what trouble the whole realm would be in.

Reek had shivered at the thought.

He had kneeled with Ramsay’s muddy riding boots on his shoulder while his Lord detailed what exactly he expected to hear about upon his return.

 _I want you to tell me of everywhere Sansa and Daenerys go together, what they do, what they talk about, what they eat. Everything Reek, I mean it. This is extremely important. I can’t allow that Targaryen to fill my wife’s head with silly fantasies and lies. We both know the reputation the Targaryen heathens have for brainwashing Stark girls._ Then he had laughed.

When Ramsay had left for his trip, Reek had seriously considered not following through with his task and simply making things up. What could two women get into that would be so diabolical? 

But then his mind got the better of him; Ramsay would surely know that he was lying. He would have someone spy on Reek while he spied on Sansa and Daenerys. It was an incredibly real possibility.

So reluctantly but obediently Ramsay’s pet had begun to follow the women.

What he did notice was that they spent every evening after supper alone in Daenerys’ rooms. Of course he was not permitted to enter but Reek always remained outside of the door trying to catch words here and there. 

Mostly it seemed to him that they were harmlessly gossiping, but that was something Ramsay would want to know about.

The whole thing made Reek anxious and queasy; he knew that they were talking but he couldn’t be certain about what.

His lack of knowledge would only land him in hot water with Ramsay.

Then she discovered him.

When he had awoken from a fitful slumber to see Daenerys Targaryen posted outside of his door, Reek only saw fire.

She was as white as any woman could be but her soul was alight with flames and fury; fire and blood.

Then he immediately thought of her three dragons just outside, and how they were constantly hungry. 

The Targaryens were known for feeding humans to their dragons, and who would be around to stop her from making a meal of him? Surely Ramsay would not mourn him terribly.

It was why he cooperated more than he should have.

If Ramsay had known that Reek had said anything at all to the dragon queen... The image of the dungeon flashed in his troubled mind.

But she had told him that she wanted his trust; that seemed so appealing to Reek at the time. If the Targaryen girl began to understand that he wasn’t a threat, that he was only Reek, then surely she wouldn’t kill him. She would have no reason to.

He fiddled with his hands, wringing them over each other repeatedly until it made the skin raw. 

He was stuck between a lash and a dragon’s mouth.

What made it worse was that he already knew the decision he would make.

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“I have never had tea like this before.” Sansa watched her silver-haired guest sip at the scalding liquid.

It was most impressive the way Daenerys refused to blow on the tea to cool it; _blood of the dragon_ , she thought.

“It was one that my mother loved before going to bed. She said it helped her to have pleasant dreams.” And in a world like this one, dreams were the only thing that could ever be happy.

“Your mother,” Daenerys ventured. “Catelyn Tully Stark.”  
“Yes,” Sansa nodded.  
“I was told that you looked like her.”

It was meant as a compliment of course, but Sansa still had trouble thinking of her late mother; the horrible way she was murdered.

“I never knew my mother but I was always told that she was beautiful; I suppose people were trying to tell me that I resembled her as well.” The steam from the cup rose over Daenerys’ face like dragon smoke.

Sansa was all too agreeable to smile pleasantly. “Yes, Your Grace. It was always legend that the Targaryens were beautiful people--- Are beautiful, I suppose.” She peered into her own cup.

Dany laughed. “You suppose that I am beautiful?”  
“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. You are, Your Grace. Very much so.”

The queen grinned playfully. “I did not mean to embarrass you, Sansa, and I told you to call me Daenerys.”

She set her tea aside and crossed her legs. “Beauty is not what makes a good ruler, although it certainly helps to spread word. Nobody ever talks about Cersei Lannister’s pragmatism, or Margaery Tyrell’s cunning. Those traits are not as interesting in a woman as the sheen of her hair or the width of her hips.”

Sansa nodded in silent agreement, remembering that the first things she had heard heralded about the two queens of King’s Landing was in fact their beauty.

“You are a queen too, you know.” Daenerys was poking at the wolf’s den again.

Sansa fussed with the ends of her hair and scrunched her nose. “No I’m not. I could never be queen. I _will_ never be queen.” But it was not terribly long ago that she had almost been queen, and perhaps this dragon girl would have wanted her dead then.

“But you are, Sansa. You are the heir to Winterfell and Queen of the North. Your brother may have revived the kingdom of the north but there have always been kings of winter. The northerners simply insist upon it.”

Still, Sansa hid away her true words in a mask of courtesy. “Please, Daenerys, you’re only trying to make me feel better about myself. You are too kind.”

Dany sighed, thwarted by that steel armor of kindness.

“I was told that you were beautiful too,” her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I was told that you were the jewel of the whole north, by men who hadn’t even seen you for themselves. That is how power works.”

Sansa’s blue eyes found Dany’s, looking for her honesty; but Daenerys had never lied to her thus far.

“You said it yourself, women are regarded more highly if they’re pretty.” And Sansa knew that to be true already.

Dany nodded. “But I would have still come to see you even if they had told me you had a witch’s nose and three breasts; you are queen regardless of what you look like. Stannis Baratheon’s daughter has grayscale but she is still a princess to his people.”

The Stark had heard of Shireen Baratheon’s unfortunate scars but Daenerys had made a very good point.

“Of course, if you had had three breasts I would have come quicker to see for myself.” Daenerys teased, and Sansa giggled as well.

“But there are only two and they look quite lovely.” The purple eyes appraised their subjects quite openly.

Sansa’s face turned a shade of red to match her hair.  
“Thank-you,” she murmured, for she had no clue what else to say.

The dragon queen grinned almost triumphantly.

The she-wolf’s heart quickened its pace, and she cursed the way her skin glowed beneath such sultry (and perhaps inappropriate) attention.

Another woman had never complimented her as such; there was something most definitely sexual about it, and it had Sansa wondering if such customs were unstigmatized in Essos, or if it was only Daenerys herself.

She had been thinking about it, almost fantasizing, when the older girl’s voice broke through.

“I talked to the kennel boy today. I think we have his silence; he’s been following us, you know. Spying.”

Sansa’s face fell. “The kennel boy?”  
“Right. The one who calls himself ‘Reek’.”

Now her heart was beating for another reason.

“Why? What did you say to him?” Her voice gave away the alarm in her chest.

“I only told him that I wished for his trust. I can’t have him saying things to Ramsay; we can’t have that, Sansa.” Daenerys seemed almost frightened by her hostess’ alarm.

Sansa’s head fell into her hands as if they would hold her brain together. She had nearly forgotten about Theon entirely.

“Daenerys please, do not talk to him again, do not seek him out. He is more dangerous than you’d suspect.”

A thick brow rose on the creamy face. “Dangerous, why, because he is Ramsay’s pet?”  
“No, because he is not Reek,” Sansa blurted.

Dany sat bolt upright and bore sharpness into Sansa’s eyes.  
“What do mean? Tell me, Sansa.”

She felt the tears prickling her eyes, threatening to break free.

“His name is not Reek, but he is Ramsay’s pet. I have known him for my entire life. He came here as a ward of my father’s, he grew up with my siblings and I as if he were a Stark himself. He is not Reek. His true name is Theon Greyjoy.”

A deafening silence permeated the entire room; not even the wind outside moved.

Daenerys blinked as this revelation settled in her stomach.

“He is the son of Balon Greyjoy, born to the Iron Islands?”  
“The very same.”  
“Then why? Tell me what happened?”  
“If you insist.”

And Sansa told Daenerys everything of Theon’s betrayal to her brother Robb, the siege on Winterfell, the murder of her two little brothers, the capture of the castle by the Boltons, and the foul imprisonment of the Greyjoy. 

“So he is responsible for much death in your family,” Dany concluded, and Sansa nodded solemnly.  
“Then I will kill him.”

Sansa’s gaze turned wild, she practically threw herself at the dragon queen. “No, you musn’t! He may be wicked and evil and a traitor but he belongs to Ramsay, and he lives a life much worse than death. If Ramsay knew you killed him, he would banish you; another war would break out. Please, you can’t.”

_You can’t because I don’t want you to leave me here. I cannot return to the existence I had barely been surviving before you came._

Daenerys contemplated Sansa’s face deeply, and she knew that she could not lose the girl’s trust over a prisoner of war.

She was right; from what Dany saw, Theon was living a life much worse than death. Killing him would only be an act of mercy.

“Then I won’t.” She affirmed.

Sansa’s body relaxed like a sigh of relief. Besides the fury her husband would have for the Targaryen, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the the way he would punish Sansa.

“You have a kindness that would shame even The Mother, Lady Sansa.” Daenerys rose from her seat in a rustle of robes and moved to the window. The frost clinging to the glass made a halo of ice around the Targaryen girl’s head.

 _No. I am not kind_ , Sansa thought. _I could give a damn what happens to Theon Greyjoy but I do not want to die, not by the hands of Ramsay Bolton._

If she were a kind person to shame the merciful Mother then she still would think of Theon as a brother, as someone she could trust. She thought no more of Theon than a cat does of a flea; as a wolf does.

Daenerys was looking at her, studying her face. Sansa felt exposed beneath the scrutiny. 

“But you believe in the Old Gods, don’t you?” The queen wasn’t looking for an answer.

Sansa nodded her head but kept her gaze down.

“Do the Old Gods care if one is so kind? Do those faces in the trees smile down upon you if you do right by them? I wonder...” 

Sansa began to cry. “You want me to change my mind, I know it. You want me to tell you that I don’t care if you kill Theon, or that I even desperately want you to, but I can’t, Daenerys. I can’t do that!”

Hot tears washed Sansa’s face as she shook her head a number of times. It was not an apology but simply a matter of fact; she could not allow the murder of Theon no more than she could of her blood brothers. 

Perhaps she did still care for the Greyjoy.

Daenerys only moved in front of the place where Sansa sat crying. One queenly hand came to stroke the auburn hair gently; hair like fire.

“A dragon has no god. I am sorry.”

And she turned to see her children breathe smoke into the air.


End file.
